The Rio Affair
by MLaw
Summary: While vacationing in Rio de Janeiro, Napoleon and Illya are called into action to investigate when they spot Leticia Machado. Her father, a Brazilian dictator; the agents helped to depose. She escaped from an insane asylum and no doubt will seek her revenge as she's now joined forces with T.H.R.U.S.H. This is a sequel to "Escape from the end of the World"
1. Chapter 1

How Napoleon Solo had convinced his Russian partner to take some time off and go to Rio for Carnival was perhaps a miraculous event.

Kuryakin had recovered from a septic gunshot wound he'd been dealt a few months prior while on assignment in Brazil with his partner. The mission to rescue a medical researcher from his imprisonment was a success, but not without casualties to Napoleon, as well as April Dancer.

Illya wasn't exactly a fan of tropical climates to begin with, and even he was in amazement that his partner had convinced him to agree to return to Brazil as to what seemed soon.

That agreement however, contained a few stipulations from Kuryakin; air conditioning, a swimming pool, an endless supply of top-shelf vodka and a promise that Napoleon would not try to finagle him into any dates with a friend of a friend, as well as a final amendment stating they'd go nowhere near the Amazon rainforest.

Illya wanted to simply drink himself delirious while laying poolside and read to his hearts content...well of course eat too. He had to admit, he was rather fond of Brazilian cuisine.

He planned to bask in the waters of the swimming pool, maybe try a few of those silly umbrella drinks and when he was finished, he'd go to his air conditioned hotel room where he'd continue his reading and drinking, order room service and sleep...alone.

Napoleon obliged him on all accounts, still bewildered his partner could so easily ignore all the Ipanema beauties, with their bronzed skin and skimpy bathingsuits as they slinked by along the pool. All of them seemingly moving in time with the soothing music that was being played on a public address speaker.

It was a regular smorgasbord of gorgeous women, though Solo was fine with having the feast all to himself...but still, his partner being alone, managed to pull at his heart strings, making him feel guilty.

It wasn't for lack of trying that Napoleon couldn't get Illya away from his chaise lounge and his bottle of vodka but he finally gave up around noon and did an about face, following a tanned, raven-haired beauty in a yellow bikini into the hotel bar.

It was late in the afternoon when Illya finally went up to his hotel room and after showering to remove the massive amounts of sunscreen he'd applied to keep from burning; he threw himself onto his bed.

He'd dressed himself a pair of tan linen pants, a polo shirt that had a pink tint to it, and on his feet were a pair of soft white moccasins. Very un-Kuryakin-like garb, but suitable to the area and the climate. He was on vacation and simply planned to relax and enjoy some peace.

Napoleon gave his coded knock on the door and using the extra key Illya had given him, he sauntered in.

He stood there grinning at his partner, who, quite out of character, was looking tanned and tropical.

"Am I going blind? Are you wearing a pink shirt?"

"S'not pink, is coral, and yes I deemed it appro...appropriate for the...the, umm climate, yes the climate." He wagged his index finger as he finished his thought.

"You're drunk."

"No but I am feelin' as you say, no pain." Illya picked up his bottle of vodka on the nightstand and poured himself another drink. "Would you like one...wait, tha's right you do not like vodka. Oh well, tha's your loss."

"Illya maybe it's time for you to come up for air and get something to eat. Aren't you hungry?"

Kuryakin laughed. "My friend is not tha' question a bit redunnnunt? You know I am al'ays hungry." Illya stood up from the bed, wobbling a little, but he managed to maintain his balance while still holding his glass.

He raised it to his lips and downed the rest of the contents, and staring bleary-eyed at the bottle, he debated over pouring another one.

"Oh no you don't," Napoleon picked up the bottle and moved it to a nearby table. "We're going to dinner."

"Fine. Fine by me. I am ffffine. We are both ffine are we not?"

"Yes tovarisch, we're fine,"Solo chuckled. Even though Illya was tipsy, it was good to see him unwind. He supposed the drinking got him over the fact they were back in Brazil but Napoleon was determined to keep his word regarding Illya's demands about returning here.

After a multi-course dinner of Brazilian delicacies..._Feijoada, _an intense black bean stew with beef and sausages. _Moqueca de Camarão._..another stew of shrimp cooked in coconut milk and palm oil with peppers and tomatoes. Black-eyed pea balls fried in palm oil, stuffed with shrimp and vinaigrette and salad made of chicken, ham, raisins, carrots, apples, olives, mayonnaise, and topped with shoestring potatoes, Napoleon was beyond stuffed. The courses kept coming and coming until he couldn't eat another bite, and even Illya finally pushed away his dessert of _Pavé _made with layers of cookies filled with chocolate and coconut; it reminded Napoleon of a Neapolitan.

"Partner mine, I am impressed. I didn't think one person could pack away that much food. Considering how skinny you are; where the hell do you put it all?"

Illya opened up his mouth to speak, but Napoleon cut him off.

"Don't answer that, I know I know...it's your high metabolism."

"Why yes, that is correct. It is nice to know you listen to me sometimes my friend," Illya grinned.

Solo was going to make a smart remark, but changed his mind. All was right with the world at the moment. Illya was correct, they were both fine and stuffed. Why bother trying to antagonize his friend? He'd save the puns for later in the week as their vacation wound down.

"Perhaps we should walk off our meal?" He looked at his watch."Hey Carnival has started, let's go have a look see. I hear the Samba schools are quite a sight to behold."

Illya shrugged, and Napoleon took that as a yes.

"You know for a man who has a voracious appetite for knowledge; I would think you'd be curious about the goings on of the world famous Carnivale?"

"Though I do admire the female form, I have no desire to ogle nearly naked women cavorting in a parade. I think that is more your idea of fun. I know what it is all about, honestly."

"Okay, what's it all about Mr. Smartypants?"

It is an annual festival held between Easter and Ash Wednesday which marks the beginning of Lent, forty days  
before Easter. On certain days of Lent Catholics and some other Christians abstain from the consumption of meat and poultry, and hence the term "carnival," from _carnelevare_, meaning to remove meat. Carnival, does however, have its roots in the pagan festival of Saturnalia, which when carried over to the Catholic faith became a farewell to bad things in a season of religious discipline to practice repentance and prepare for Christ's death and resurrection."

"Well said and here I thought you might not know." Napoleon let out a hearty laugh. "But on the fun side, there's more to it than scantily clad women; there's the fabulous costumes, dancing and music from each of the schools Illya. It's one big competition to see which will be crowned the best."

Kuryakin had no response as the two strolled off, following the crowds heading for the viewing stands in preparation for the night festivities. Once the parade of the schools was over people would party and dance into the night, some in their own brightly colored costumes. Napoleon's thinking was that he could lure his partner out for some of the Rio night life if he played his cards right.

The agents found themselves a good spot and watched as the brightly costumed performers passed by. There were row upon row of members of each school, dancing and singing to their own chosen songs.

Each school begins its process with the _"comissão de frente"_ with the group of ten to fifteen or more people from the school that appear first. They introduce the school and set the mood and style of their presentation. Their dances were choreographed, with their outfits telling a short story.

As the _comissão de frente _moved in their oversized costumes bedecked with immense feathers and head pieces, everything swayed in time with their chosen samba. Following each cadre of dancers was the ornate float of the samba school, called _"abre-alas." _These served as stages, and high atop them were mostly females, wearing revealing costumes and equally ornate head pieces. They too swayed and jiggled to the music, with its driving and almost hypnotic drum beats.

As the parade progressed, each school was more impressive than the next, moving in swirl of bright oranges, red and yellow costumes amid the sequins and feathers.

The next group was particularly impressive as their outfits, a brilliant green and black, and wearing their head dresses resembling the ancient crowns of the Mayans and Aztecs warriors; looking fierce and threatening. They were the attention getters, and Napoleon elbowed his partner as the float approached, it was made to resemble a temple of sorts, and out from its entrance stepped a woman dressed completely in black.

She lifted her arms, outstretched above her head to reveal immense black wings.

Illya leaned over, remarking that she somehow resembled the THRUSH emblem. It seemed odd to see someone dressed all in black while each school was bedecked in brilliant colors for a celebration of life.

Napoleon did a double-take, not at his partner's remark, but at the face of the woman wearing the costume….it was Leticia Machado, or at least he swore it was, but the eye color was wrong, they were brown instead of blue."

Illya turned, looking Solo straight in the eyes. "Was that..?"

"So it would seem, though I'm not completely sure it was her."

"Napoleon, I was my understanding she was in an insane asylum."

"Yeah, about that..."

The Russian glared at his partner. "And _when _were you planning to tell me?"

"She escaped not long after her incarceration. Honestly I figured she was long gone. Mr. Waverly has his radar on high, keeping a lookout for her and until now, she hasn't been sighted. She simply disappeared."

"Apparently our radar is in need of some repairs," Illya nervously ran his fingers through his hair. "And you thought it would be good for us to make a leisurely return trip here knowing this about her?"

"Well it hasn't been bad so far has it chum?"

Illya shook his head in complete dismay. "Did it not occur to you she might stay in her old stomping grounds?"

"Yes that thought did cross my mind, but keep in mind she has no idea we're here. So we're one up on her. I think it best to notify Mr. Waverly of her presence."

"Agreed. Napoleon do you not think it strange that her costume as well as the others on the float resembled thrushes? Coincidence?"

"Partner mine, I have learned in this business, there is no such thing as a coincidence."

The two disappeared to one of the side streets; Solo pulling his communicator as they hid, camouflaged by several large potted plants outside a restaurant, not only to escape prying eyes but the near deafening noise of the parade.

"Open channel D, overseas relay."

"Yes Mr. Solo?" Waverly responded; his manner, brusk as usual.

"Sir we have a situation here. Leticia Machado has finally resurfaced, and it's possible she's thrown her lot in with T.H.R.U.S.H."

"The devil you say? We've not been able to locate her since her disappearance from the asylum. Hmmm, fortuitous you spotted her. Consider yourselves officially on assignment. Follow her and confirm if she is indeed involved with our feathered friends. If she is, I will decide your next move from out."

"So much for our vacation," Napoleon said.

"Why did I know it was a mistake coming back to Brazil with you? How you managed to convince me to do so, I will never understand." Illya shook his head.

"Hey chum, it was my charming personality, what can I say?" Napoleon grinned. "Now first order of business, let's find out which Samba school she was with. I'll bet wherever it's located, the birdies won't be far away."

Illya dug into his trouser pocket, pulling out a piece of folded paper.

"This is a list of the samba schools, but unfortunately there are a lot of them.

He scanned it, looking at the names classified as first league schools, but not seeing anything that was intriguing. The list of second league schools was much longer. There were other leagues as well, and doing a quick count, Kuryakin reckoned there were at least two hundred.

Illya called off some of the names, "_Sao Clemente, Portella, Beija-flor, Em Cima de Hora, Unidos de Padre, Porto de Pedra_, ahhh, here is a likely candidate as any."

"What name is that?"

"_Aves de Rapina...birds of prey."_


	2. Chapter 2

Donning sunglasses, the two tanned agents worked their way through the throngs of people there on the streets for Carnival. Their clothing wasn't out of place as they were both in linen suits, though Solo opted for a brown polo shirt,while his partner still wore the coral color, this allowed them to easily blend in with the myriad of tourists there on vacation.

Neither man was happy to be giving up their holiday, but when duty called they answered without  
hesitation, though the Russian seemed the least unhappy of the two. Napoleon had talked him into going back to Brazil, in spite of their previous mission there nearly getting him killed.

As they walked among the revelers, hey were each waylaid several times by women dressed in flimsy feathered costumes, and kissed until they could pry themselves from their embraces. Though the last girl to latch onto Solo he found just too sexy to let go, and the American returned her embrace with enthusiasm.

He didn't need Illya to remind him of the urgency of their assignment, and finally relented,pulling away from her.

"Chow, gorgeous. It was fun while it lasted," he smiled giving her a gentlemanly bow.

"_Oh, você está quebrando meu coração você homem bonito,"_ she stood in front of him, jiggling her barely covered breasts at him.

Napoleon took a few steps back and turned, moving at a quick trot to catch up with his partner.

"What did she say to me?"

"She said you were an American imperialist, and she hated you."

Solo grabbed him by the sleeve. "She didn't say that...did she?"

"Hmm, perhaps it is time for you to improve your language skills?" Illya laughed.

"Hey I have a quite a few languages under my belt but those that I don't know, I defer to your capable abilities my friend."

That did it, as Napoleon knew it would. Stroking Illya linguistic prowess would get him to tell the truth. "So what did she really say?"

"All right. She called you a handsome man and that you were breaking her heart."

"That's more like it. Yes, Napoleon Solo... handsome heart breaker."

"I knew I would regret telling you," Illya rolled his eyes."Your ego when it comes to women needs no boosting."

The crowds on the streets finally began to thin out, the farther away they got from the festivities, and there they were finally able to hail a taxi.

"_Onde senhores? _Where to, the driver asked.

"_As aves de rapina escola de samba,"_ Illya responded.

"_Isso está no outro lado da cidade ... ninguém vai estar lá senhors; eles ainda estão comemorando o Carnaval."_

_"Isso é bom, vamos esperar até que alguém da escola retornos," _Illya said.

"So you going to translate chum?" Napoleon asked after being patient.

"Oh sorry. He said the school is on the other side of the city, more in the suburbs. No one will be there as they are still celebrating Carnival. I told him we will wait there until someone from the school returns."

"_Senhors, aves de rapina está localizado em uma área muito difícil. É nas favelas. Você está certo de querer ir para lá?_"

"_Sim temos a certeza, muito obrigado."_ Illya answered him. "He says the school is located in a pretty rough area. It is in the slums, which are not a place to wander about without someone who knows his way around. He asked if we were sure we still want to go there and of course I told him we do."

"Tell us about the samba schools?" Illya asked, still speaking Portuguese.

"_The samba schools represent the community spirit of a neighborhood, which is usually a particular slum. They bring a sense of community and belonging," the driver nodded with pride._

The agents were dropped them off in front of a dilapidated warehouse."_Do you want me to wait around senhors, just in case of trouble?"_

"Good idea," Kuryakin said, "but do not stay here, park nearby." Illya handed the fare plus a generous tip.

"_Voltar. Meia hora. Mais dinheiro para você_ come back. Half hour. More money for you."_ Napoleon said in broken Portuguese as he waved a few more bills before putting them away in his pocket.

"_"Seja senhor cuidado, não flash dinheiro nesta parte da cidade. Eu espero que você não carregam objetos de valor, senhors?"_

"_Entendido," _Illya answered. "H_e _said you should be careful about flashing money in this part of town. He hopes we are carrying no valuables."

Napoleon opened his jacket, flashing his holstered gun to the man.

"_Muito bem, senhor."_

Solo understood instantly that met with the driver's approval.

The taxi drove off as soon as Napoleon and Illya closed the door behind them and stepped onto what served as a sidewalk. It was more gravel and debris than anything, interspersed with green tufts of grass.

"This doesn't exactly look like a school, does it?" Napoleon asked.

"What I have heard is these are more like clubs where people simply show up to learn the dances and routines for the parade, so in the true sense, it is not an institute of learning."

There was nothing to indicate it was a THRUSH holdout, but they never exactly hung out the welcome mat with their emblem on it.

Napoleon took the lead, cautiously approaching the door but found it open, much to his surprise. Since the school was participating in Carnival, and the members wouldn't be back until late in the night, it seemed be safe to proceed. Though it didn't make sense the place would be unlocked and unattended in a tough neighborhood, unless some birdies were nesting here.

As soon as they stepped inside, both men drew their weapons. Solo moving the left, Illya to the right as they made their way along the walls of what looked more like a gymnasium than a warehouse..

It vacant, though the floor was littered with bits of feathers, crepe paper and sequins, no doubt this is where the participants prepared themselves and the float, though how they got it out of here was a less important question to be answered at the moment.

Napoleon came upon a door with a very official looking warning on it.

_'__Entrada proibida!'_ It was easy enough to decipher as _'No entry'._

He signalled to his partner who made his way across, joining him by the door.

"Shall we?" Napoleon asked,

"After you." Illya gestured.

The door opened in silence and they stepped in, finding themselves on a landing to steps that disappeared in the darkness. The stairwell was poorly lit, and the agents crept down, keeping along the walls.

They came to a second door, this one illuminated with a red overhead light, giving the entrance an eerie, foreboding appearance.

Napoleon listened the old fashioned way, putting his ear to the door, but heard nothing.

Illya tried the handle, and finding it locked; he pulled a lock pic from his trouser pocket and with two clicks it was done. He slowly opened the door, and stepped into what looked like a laboratory.

Everything was white, and there were beakers and test tubes containing various color liquids and on one of the desks lay a green binder; on its cover the T.H.R.U.S.H. emblem.

Napoleon pulled his communicator. "Channel D-overseas relay. Mr. Waverly.

"Yes Mr. Solo what have you to report?"

"We've found the samba school and it's definitely T.H.R.U.S.H. There's some sort of lab here but we're not quite sure what's going on."

"Well, gather whatever intelligence you can and get out. I don't want you engaging them, nor running into the likes of Miss Machado until we know what they're up to. Out."

"Okay chum we've got our marching orders. Gather up what samples you can of what's in those test tubes."

"Napoleon, I do not think I will need to do that," Illya was looking over the binder he'd picked up from the desk. He looked up from the page, pointing to something ominous. "The are in the process of developing a formula that specifically destroys oil and all its derivatives."

"Destroying oil? Don't tell me they want to corner the market by wiping out the world's supply, while controlling their own oil fields that will be miraculously spared."

"Excellent guess my friend. It would that is the case. They have apparently gone into business under a company called Petek...Petroleum Technologies."

Napoleon opened his communicator, calling Waverly again.

"Sir, can we find out any information on a company under the name of Petek. It seems our feathered friends are delving into the oil business and may be planning to wipe out the supplies of the competition."

"The devil you say? If they were able to manage that, they could gain a stranglehold on the fuel industry, not to mention all the other products that are made from petroleum. One moment Mr. Solo."

"Yes, here it is. Petek, a new company oddly enough, headed by an Egyptian man named Maahes Zuberi. It has recently gone public on the stock market. Based in Venezuela; they have been buying up the smaller oil companies there and are in the process of creating a monopoly among the oil reserves. Indeed this is most troubling.

"Did not the oil producing countries of Venezuela, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and Kuwait form the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries better known as OPEC only a few years ago," Illya called out.

"Indeed Mr. Kuryakin,"The main goals of the members countries was to secure and stabilize international oil prices to ensure their interests as oil producing nations. They are managing this by maintaining maintaining export quotas that are helping to prevent overproduction of oil on an international scale."

Illya waved to get his partner's attention, pointing excitedly at the binder.

"Beg pardon sir but I have been looking through a notebook I found here, and the formulas with which they are experimenting are listed in great detail. Apparently they are focusing their work on extremophiles, which in their natural state are microorganisms that live deep underground in conditions where most organisms would not survive.

"Extremophiles? I have never heard of such a thing. What are they?"

"They swim in oil deposits, eating the oil in essence, though they do leave behind a variety of by products which taint the oil. This requires the industry to refine it even further to make it usable for fuel and other purposes. What they seem to be doing here though is developing a mutated form of these extremophiles in order to destroy the oil deposits and thereby leaving no usable by products. How they plan to control these microorganisms is unclear."

"That is for me and me alone to know," a deep voice said from behind them. "But first gentlemen, I need you to slowly put down your weapons and put your hands on your heads please. And do so slowly as I would hate to have you shot before we have made our acquaintance."

Napoleon put down his communicator on the table, leaving the channel open. He and Illya cooperated as there were three men with their weapons trained on them. The man speaking to them was and olive-skinned, this hair as dark and shiny as a raven. He too was dressed in a linen suit, but it was completely white. His eyes were dark and intense as he stared at them.

Alexander Waverly listened in, feeling helpless.

He flicked a switch on his console, contacting Communications.

"Yes sir?"

"I want a fix on Napoleon Solo's position, and quickly...his communicator signal could be lost at any moment."

"On it right away sir."

The U.N.C.L.E. agents were led into another room, leaving behind their guns and communicators.

The contrast to the stark lab was startling, and it was as if they'd stepped into the Egyptian Antiquities Museum in Cairo, a place with which Solo and Kuryakin were all too familiar.*

There they were surrounded by statuary depicting several of the major Egyptian gods and goddesses with carved heads of jackals and hippos, there were alabaster canopic jars as well aS stela depicting scenes of the Pharaohs and their court, most likely from the third dynasty. All treasures that belonged in a museum.

But the most outstanding thing there was the fact the room was crawling with cats, and sitting in a prominent display was a golden statue of the cat goddess Bastet. In front of the statue were burning sticks of incense and bowls with offerings of food.

Illya flashed a quick look at his partner, feeling very uncomfortable about their surroundings. His memories of their assignment in Egypt, though years ago held some upsetting and frightening memories for the Russian who found himself wrapped once again in linen bandages, but this time encased in a royal sarcophagus.*

"Please sit," the man in charge said," gesturing towards two ornately carved chairs, done in an ancient Egyptian style.

"I am Maahes Zuberi, and this place belongs to me, including the lab and what you were looking at. Now gentlemen, you will tell me who you are and why you were snooping about."

"Of course, if you'd let us explain while in the lab none of this would have been necessary," Napoleon flashed a confident smile. "My name is Edward Neary and this man is my associate Igor and we were sent by the Council to look into your operation."

"THRUSH Council? Why was I not notified?"

"It's not the habit of the Council to give such warnings. We prefer to make our inspections without any undue interference," Napoleon answered with an air of arrogant confidence in his voice. Amazingly his ruse seemed to be working.

"Oh I see. I am new to the ways of your organization so there are things to which I must become accustomed." Zuberi reached for a decanter, offering his presumed guests a drink.

"May I offer you a scotch?"

"No thank you Mr. Zuberi. Now if you'd be good enough to return our belongings to us, we'll be on our way," Solo rose from his chair, with Kuryakin following suit, not saying a word.

"Oh Mr. Neary and Mr. ummm... Igor you have just arrived. Surely you will at least stay and dine with me as my guests?"

"Would that we could enjoy your kind offer and the pleasure of your company, but we must be going. We have other places to visit and reports to file. Speaking or reprts, might I have a copy of your research, as memebers of the Council will need something more concrete than my report to update them on your progress.

Zuberi snapped his fingers, sending one of his guards away. He returned a moment later in carrying their guns and communicators, as well as the binder, handing them to Zuberi.

"I trust gentlemen that you will be giving the Council a satisfactory report?"

Napoleon slowly rose from his chair, holding out his hand, not batting an eye when the guns and communicators were given to him.

He passed Illya's belongings to him as the Russian stood silently beside him. Illya held out his hand as well, waiting for the requested document. Zuberi slipped a page from the binder, folding it in half and nervously handing it to the Russian, who was flashing a frightening cold blue-eyed glare.

They were escorted upstairs and seen across the gymnasium and just as they thought they were home free, the doors opened and in walked the last person they wanted to see at the moment…Leticia Machado.

She let out a blood curdling scream, holding up the black wings of her costume like a monstrous bird of prey.

_"__Você! Levá-los! Estes dois são U.N.C.L.E. agentes_you! Get them! These two are U.N.C.L.E. agents!" _She hissed in Portuguese.

There was a blaze of gunfire, and somehow Napoleon and Illya managed to get out of the building to the street and there they ran for their lives; dodging through the crowds of revelers who were returning from the parades around the city.

They made it around a corner, but suddenly there was the sound of screeching tires and a pair of glaring headlights came straight at them...

.

* The See the Pyramids along the Nile Affair


	3. Chapter 3

Throwing themselves to the ground in hopes it would the juggernaut of a vehicle would miss them.

Instead the driver slammed on the brakes, screeching to a stop.

"_Aqui Senhors!"_ It was the taxi driver, waving his arm for them to get into the car.

The agents scrambled inside and just as Illya closed the rear door closed behind them, they heard the unmistakable sound of motorbikes quickly coming from towards them

Kuryakin barked in Portuguese at the driver, telling him to step on it.

"_Where to?"_

"_Anywhere, but we must get away from those motorbikes!"_

The driver peeled away, weaving around pedestrians who yelled at him, shaking their fists.

The bikers were relentless, staying right with him but when the taxi reached a more open street he suddenly pinned the steering wheel, skidding to a ridiculously fast about face.

Their pursuers were caught completely off guard, and trying to make the turns themselves; they were thrown to the ground; their bikes toppling down, sliding across the road.

The taxi took off, leaving them in a cloud of smoke as tires burned rubber; disappearing down the street and out of view.

Fifteen minutes passed and still there were no signs of the bikes. They had indeed lost them.

"_That was exciting Senhors, though I much prefer an easier fare._

_So now where may I take you? Keep in mind the chase will cost you _

_extra,"_ the driver smiled, seemingly unfazed by the chase.

Illya gave him the address of the hotel, and Napoleon as promised handed the man a generous tip for his trouble.

"Where can we get hold of him again should we need his services?" Solo asked. He liked the feisty driver's ability to think fast in a dangerous situation, a talent they would most likely need again.

Illya translated, discovering the driver's name was João Brandao, and he was more than willing to help...for a price. Still he seemed an honest man, just one looking to make some extra money.

The driver handed them a card with a telephone number jotted down on it.

"_Tell whoever answers you are looking for __João_ _and they will know how to contact me. Sadly I do not have a telephone of my own."_

After Illya finished translating, Napoleon ventured to use his limited knowledge of Portuguese.

"_Meu nome é Napoleão e ele é Illya,_" he introduced himself and his partner.

"O-kay, Napoleão...Eel-ya. I be here you call," the man spoke in broken English." Good?"

"_Sim bom...yes good._" Napoleon replied.

The agents watched as João drove off; they finally turned and heading into the lobby of their hotel.

"So _tovarisch,_ weren't you proud of me trying to speak Portuguese?"

"It was a valiant effort my friend, but let us call it a work in progress. However, that being said; I need to talk to you about your off the cuff choice of cover names. Really Napoleon.._.Igor?_ Do I resemble a hunchbacked assistant to a mad scientist?"

Solo flashed him a sheepish look, "Hey at least I didn't call you...well, never mind."

"What?"

"Himey."

"And where did you come up with that name?"

Solo grinned,"I heard it on a new TV show...a spy spoof as I recall."

Kuryakin simply shook his head. "My friend, at times I simply do not understand the workings of your mind, nor your humor."

"Honestly partner mine, neither do I," Napoleon snorted.

"Speaking of names," Illya said. "Our host had a rather interesting one. _Maahes_ is the name of a minor Egyptian god whose mother was Bastet, the cat goddess. The god _Maahes_ is represented by a lion-headed man."

"Ah that explains the number of felines as well as what looked like a cat shrine in his office."

"Precisely what I thought," Illya ran his fingers through his hair. "Now his surname, _Zuberi, _means '_the destroyer.'_ So it seems he was destined by birth to be on the side of evil."

"Interesting analysis chum," Napoleon said as they headed to the elevator, taking it up to Solo's room and there Napoleon contacted headquarters in New York.

"Mr. Solo are you and Mr. Kuryakin all right?" Alexander Waverly answered with surprising concern hinted at in his tone. "I over heard the confrontation with Zuberi. We were trying to track your location but your communicator signal was lost."

"Yes sir we're fine. We're back at our hotel and were able to lose our tail. I managed to convince Mr. Maahes Zuberi that we were from the T.H.R.U.S.H. Council. The good new is we able did get a brief written synopsis from him regarding his operation."

Illya interrupted, holding up the paper he had just scanned.

"Sorry sir, looking it over; it tells me nothing more than what I'd already told you. There is no indication of the timetable for this particular plan or if they have even been successful with developing the organisms."

Waverly harumphed his disappointment. "So I'm presuming there was bad news as well?"

"Yes sir, we were recognized by Leticia Machado when we were leaving, and there was a firefight, and hence the tails."

"I was concerned about you running into that mad woman. Still, gentlemen there's nothing to it but to go back to that samba school and retrieve the notebook. It will give our scientists a leg up on developing some sort of counter agent to stop the process if Zuberi has indeed succeeded in creating these mutant...what were they again?

"Extremophiles sir," Illya answered.

"Yes these organisms must not be allowed to multiply. Oil is one of the most necessary of commodities around the modern world and must not fall under the control of T.H.R.U.S.H. Get that notebook and get it fast. I will expect to hear from you upon the successful completion of your mission. Waverly Out."

Napoleon laid his communicator down on his private bar, grabbing an open bottle of scotch and pouring himself a shot.

"Drink tovarisch?"

Illya waved it off, as he sat down on the sofa; lost in thought. His earlier mindset on drinking himself into a stupor had been completely erased now that they were back in action; though he was still not happy about being in Brazil.

Napoleon downed the drink before he began to pace, trying to come up with one of his brilliant plans.

He stopped, pointing his index finger upwards, about to say something but then shook his head.

"No plan?" Illya finally asked.

"Not one that you'll like."

"That is usually the case when it involves me and your plans," Illya stretched out, laying down now.

"Well if we color your hair and get a pair of brown contact lenses you could infiltrate the school as someone who wants to learn their dance moves. Carnival is far from over and I'm sure the samba schools need backups. They have to do more than one parade right? The fact that you're fluent in Portuguese makes you the only choice to infiltrate the school. Once inside you can do your cat burglar thing."

Illya sat up, pondering the plan. "It could work," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I am familiar with many latin dance moves."

"Exactly," Napoleon smiled.

"And what is it you will be doing my friend?"

"I'll be outside waiting to give you backup if you need it."

"See if you spoke Portuguese this would have been much easier to manage."

"Okay, chastisement noted. You can start my lessons when we get back to New York."

The next day the needed hair dye and contact lenses were located. Once the transformation took place, Illya dressed himself in a snug fitting pair of dungarees and a tight black tee shirt. He rolled up the sleeves, tucking a pack of local brand cigarettes in one of them.

He stood in the middle of Napoleon's hotel room, striking a pose and looking very much like a local.

"I gotta say IK, you look like a pretty hot street hustler, but are you going to be able to swivel your hips in those pants? They look awfully snug."

"All the better to make people take notice of me as I dance," Illya demonstrated a samba step with ease. "Sexy enough my friend? You are the expert in such matters."

Solo grinned, letting out a whistle.

"Well look at you partner mine," amazed at his usually shy Russian's transformation. "If those moves of yours and your tight derriere don't get you in, I don't know what will... you know they may ask you to wear one of those skimpy costumes."

"My friend, I intend to not let it get that far and I should be long gone with the notebook before there is any sort of dress rehearsal."

"Hey buddy boy, from your mouth to God's ears."

"That is such a odd saying. What does God have to do with it?"

Little did Kuryakin know that there would definitely be a deity involved, just not the one Napoleon referred to.

João arrived on time the next morning not recognizing Illya at all, until he spoke to him.

"_It is a good disguise Senhor Eel-ya. You going to join the samba school, yes?"'_

_"I am."_

"_E você o Senhor Napoleão, o que você vai fazer?" _João asked.

Solo, hearing his name, waited for the translation.

"He wants to know what you will be doing?" Illya said.

Napoleon chuckled." Oh fine, just go ahead and tell him, and ask him if there's anything else?"

"_Napoleon will be waiting in the vicinity of the school should I need help and if you could remain close by in case we need another quick get away, that would be most helpful."_

Napoleon reached into his wallet, pulling out the bills to pay the man.

"_Não, você me pagar quando tudo estiver pronto. Sim?" _João waved him off.

Illya smiled. "He says pay him when we are done."

Solo offered his hand to the driver, thanking him.

As the taxi drove slowly into the neighborhood, Illya made one last adjustment to his disguise, and that was adding a pencil thin dark moustache and goatee. His face might still be recognizable without it.

They were dropped off a block away, with Napoleon dressed in more local style clothing, leaning against the wall of _adega _eatery, a mom and pop sort of restaurant. He lit a cigarette, and simply made himself blend in as he watched Illya saunter down the street until he disappeared through the doors of the school.

.

Inside there were others gathered, more women than men, dressed in shorts skirts to show off their 'assets' as well as off the shoulder peasant blouses to give a tantalizing peek at their cleavage.

Kuryakin was amongst equals when it came to the men, as only one or two were taller than him and the others. His clothing however, did call attention to his physique.

A woman carrying a clipboard walked among them all, stopping and looking everyone up and down, noting the ones that caught her eye.

She stopped in front of Illya, her mouth hanging open.

"_Perfeito. Você vai fazer muito bem como nosso deus sobre o flutuador_Perfect. You will do nicely as our god on the float, but first I must see you dance._"

She turned to a group of drummers standing off to the side, snapping her fingers.

One of them turned to a record player set up on a nearby table. Placing a microphone in front of a small speaker. The hall was suddenly filled with the music of the samba, to which the drummers added their beat.

"_Dança para mim agora,_" the woman told Illya to dance for her.

Illya began his steps, moving his hips seductively, all the while looking the woman in the eyes.

"_Magnífico! Bom Deus, o homem que você é muito sexy_magnificent! Good God man, you are very sexy! Go through that door, and they will set you up with your costume. Then we will work on learning your steps. They must be perfect as you will be the figure of the god reigning over your kingdom."_

"_What god is is that Madame?" He asked._

"_For our pyramid float, we honor the Egyptians and the god Osiris."_

"_Chyort," _Illya cursed to himself in Russian.

The last time was costumed as the god Osiris, he was nearly mummified.* He tried telling himself no such thing would happen here;this was play acting and an easy in and out operation, nothing to be nervous about.

He went off in the direction of the wardrobe department, but instead headed through the same door he and Napoleon had entered last time. There were so many people about that no one noticed him doing so.

Kuryakin moved down the stairs with a purpose; knowing where he was going this time and that was to the lab. He had to assume the notebook would have been returned there, if it was that would make his task all the more easier.

No one was in the room and the book was right there in plain sight. He grabbed it and turned to leave until something caught his attention.

It was a jar filled with a clear liquid but in it was what looked like blobs of crude oil. Next to the jar was a small rod he recognized as a magnet.

Illya picked it up, but in doing so it came close to the surface of the glass, and he watched as the black blobs moved as if they were alive. The magnet was affecting them.

"Hmmm, ferrofluid? Odd that this should be here." It was a liquid that became strongly magnetized in the presence of a magnetic field.

Ferrofluid was invented by NASA for use with a liquid rocket fuel that could be drawn toward a pump inlet in a weightless environment by applying a magnetic field.

"Perhaps they are using the ferrofluid to control the distribution of the extremophiles? That would make sense, if they somehow found a way to bind the microorganisms to the colloidal liquids made of ferrimagnetic particles. Perhaps suspended in a carrier fluid of an organic solvent or water."

It was a brilliant plan to manipulate the mutant extremophile organisms, if that was indeed the case.

Illya grabbed the jar, taking it along with the notebook, and heading upstairs, he shoved it behind a loose panel in the wall just inside the alcove by the door. He pushed a trash can in front of it to keep it hidden.

He quickly pulled his communicator. "Channel F," he whispered. "Napoleon, getting out with the book and a sample I grabbed will not be as easy as I first thought." He revealed where he'd hidden things and quickly closed the communicator.

Still no one paid attention to him; they were all busy learning their steps to the blaring music. It wasn't until he stepped into view that the woman who had been choosing the dancers shrieked at him.

"_I told you to go to wardrobe! Where were you?"_ She demanded.

"_Umm, I needed to go to the bathroom."_

"_Well...get moving then," _she shoved him to the wardrobe door, making sure he made it inside.

Once there Illya was quickly fitted for his Egyptian garb; a golden kilt-like _shendyt _wrapped around his waist, a turquoise and white beaded collar was fastened around his neck, leaving him barechested. They put gold arm and wrist bands on him and placed atop his head, the double crown of the Egyptian kings; symbolizing the Red Crown of Lower Egypt and the White Crown of Upper Egypt. It represented the joining of the two lands, and the pharaoh's control over them.

The last time such a crown was placed on Illya's head, bad things happened, and he again hoped no such thing would occur this time.

He was handed the crook and the flail of the pharaoh and told to hold them crossed in front of his chest. Kuryakin was escorted to the practice floor; climbing up a flight of stairs leading up to a stage that had been erected to represent the float. He was told it would be a golden pyramid.

Illya was beginning to regret calling too much attention to himself. It was going to make it difficult for him to now retrieve the notebook and jar since he was stuck in the spotlight. There would be no sneaking away from this role. That made him sigh.

Napoleon would have to get them from the hiding place, and after Illya returned from the parade...where ever that was, he would meet up with his partner, hopefully with his hide still intact.

_"Bozhe moy,_ "he muttered in Russian. This was turning out to be_ some vacation._.."


	4. Chapter 4

A woman suddenly appeared, walking very regally up the steps to stage.

She was clothed in the manner of Egyptian queens with a royal crown of horns in which a sun disk was set. A golden uraeus cobra was depicted in combination with the vulture to symbolise divinity as the 'feathered serpent'. That combination was one with which he was not familiar.

Yet it was reminiscent of Quetzalcoatl, the serpent god in Aztec mythology. That perhaps was an homage to the indigenous people in this area and their possible relationship to the ancient Egyptians?

The woman's long pleated gown shimmered and being somewhat transparent, her near nakedness was revealed beneath it.

She wore a bright multicolored cape and when she raised it, spreading it out, it resembled the wings. It was an image he knew all too well and it was one that still haunted him...Isis.

Illya's mind raced with flashbacks; the ceremony in the temple of Isis in Egypt when he was forced to have sex with the woman Anucis Sakr, who was dressed in a similar queenly costume. They were both drugged out of their minds and had no control over their actions.

He shivered thinking about it, as neither of them could stop what they were doing; it was if they had been under some ancient mystical spell.*

The cult members believed he would channel the god Osiris and the woman Anucis was representing the god's consort Isis and their union would produce a child which would be Osiris reborn in human form.

Illya couldn't let his mind go there. No, it was long ago. The woman disappeared after they were rescued; he never found her and never knew if a child had been conceived.*

That clouded his thoughts until he forced himself to calm down, and it was Kuryakin's worry now as the woman standing next to him in the guise of Isis was none other than the lunatic, Leticia Machado.

"Ah absolutely stunning!" Maahes Zuberi pronounced as the appeared out of nowhere. "You are the perfect incarnations of the Lord Osiris and the Lady Isis." He stopped himself, doing a double take at Illya.

Kuryakin recognized it as the same stare Zuberi gave him the previous day down in his office, and feared the worst; he'd been recognized.

"Come I would like you two to accompany me to my office. I wish to make a special offering to Bastet for such a perfect pairing."

Illya feigned ignorance, "Quem é Bastet?" He tried disguising his voice.

"Who is Bastet?" Zuberi laughed, "Why she is only my mother and you wouldn't want to insult a man's mother would you? Once we take care of that you will return here and prepare to head out for the next parade that is due soon."

"No Senhor, I would not want to show a discourtesy to your mother," Illya said.

"Good then it is settled. Follow me please?"

Illya and Leticia descended the steps of the stage; the Russian allowing her to go before him. He breathed a small sigh of relief that neither she or Zuberi recognized him, and he felt rather pleased with his disguise.

He was led through the door that Kuryakin was all too familiar with and down to Zuberi's office.

Two armed guards appeared standing on either side of the Russian, taking hold of his arms.

"You thought you could fool me Mr. Igor, "Zuberi smiled. "Or should I say Mr. Kuryakin? Darling Leticia told me your true name, and that you and your friend are from U.N.C.L.E. Your disguise, though is quite effective, did not hide something you may not be aware of… something only a true believer, such as myself could see."

"What are you going on about Zuberi?" Illya kept his voice cold and calm.

"You were very much aware of my gazing at you when we first met, were you not?"

Illya shrugged his indifference.

"You see Mr. Kuryakin, you bear the mark of Osiris, specifically on your chest. Though I couldn't see it beneath your clothing, I sensed something. Now that you are dressed appropriately it is as plain as day to me."

The Egyptian plugged in a small light, a wand with an elongated bulb...some sort of black light Illya guessed.

It was held over Illya's chest and there it was, a blue glow showing a distinctive hand print and a small cartouche with hieroglyphic symbols representing the name of Osiris.

"You are he who should have been sacrificed to the god, your life was to open the gates for the rebirth of Osiris into human form. The child of your union with Isis is to bring a new era, heralding the return to the old ways and the true gods and goddesses."

"You are mad Zuberi. What child, I do not know what you are talking about," Illya lied.

"Ahhh so you do not know then. There was a child born, though we have not found him yet...he and his mother."

"Come, let us complete the ritual that had been interrupted," Zuberi clapped his hands.

Zuberi pulled a lever on the wall, opening a hidden door; gesturing for the guards to take the agent through it.

Illya's heart began to pound, his mind was racing trying to figure a way out of this predicament as well as the realization he had fathered a child with Anucis Sakr. He had a son… That made the Russian all the more determined to stop these lunatics at whatever cost.

He tried to make a run for it but the guards grabbed his arms as Illya struggled but he froze when Leticia stepped forward, whipping out a dagger and holding it to his throat.

"It is a shame we will not have another chance to dance together again, and I do not mean a samba. Still I will have my revenge when I drive this knife into your chest and cut out your heart." Her look was wide-eye and feral.

Illya not at a loss for words, had his usual pithy comment "What no mummification this time?"

"No," laughed." Only a blood sacrifice will do."

He was led down a torch lit corridor, and to a room where there was a ritual altar of sorts. The walls were painted with Egyptian images, and there was an empty shrine towards the back of the room.

"See that Kuryakin? That is where your heart will be offered up to the gods!" Leticia cackled.

"There were no human sacrifices in ancient Egypt."

"I know she smiled, but we are not there and we don't have the facilities to do a mummification, so I suggested a ritual akin to those of the ancient Mayans and Aztecs. We are in Rio after all."

Illya rolled his eyes. "Please tell me that you and I do not have to have ritual sex?"

"You and me," Leticia howled with laughter. "Although a condemned man can be granted a last wish?"

"Not if you were the last woman left on Earth," Illya practically spat at her.

The mad woman did nothing but sneer at him. The guards dragged him to the altar, holding him down as Zuberi entered the room. He was wearing Egyptian style robes an on his head, a lion head dress and he carried with him a silver goblet.

One of the guards grabbed Illya by the hair while his mouth was forced open and the contents of the goblet drained into his mouth.

It took but a few minutes for the drugged wine to take effect. Illya began to feel light, as if disconnected from his body. He was still conscious of his situation, moved his arms slowly across his chest, reaching for a small scar with his fingers while he still had the where with all to do so.

He pressed against it with his thumb, activated the homing disc that had been embedded beneath his skin as soon as the and Solo were ordered to begin their investigation.

In the background he could hear Zuberi beginning his chants, reciting no doubt the words from the Egyptian book of the dead.

"Manu revives you in pieces, Maat embraces you at times of morning and evening. He gives glory, strength and truth of voice and the power to come forth as living soul to seek Harnak, his to seek the Ka of Osiris, true of his voice before Osiris."

"He says O all you, gods of the house of the Ka, the soul, weigher of heavens and earth in the balance, giver of food and sustenance. Give praise to Ra, lord of heaven, prince; life strength and health to him, maker of the gods! "

Leticia began to paint symbols on his body, marking the thirteen pieces where Osiris had been cut apart. Though it was mythology to the Russian, these people apparently believed in what they were doing, well maybe not Leticia as she was as mad as a hatter and would go along with whatever Zuberi told her to do.

Illya was still very self away, watching her detail the hieroglyphs on his skin, and made note she hadn't painted his private parts gold as the temple priests had done last time he'd gone through this ritual in Egypt. He found some relief in that knowledge, though those feelings would be short lived. There would be pain soon, and he knew he'd live long enough for him to see his beating heart in Leticia's hands.

Zuberi picked up another goblet, handing to the her. She was still dressed as the goddess Isis, playing her part. Letiica took it and downed the contents, Illya guessed for her to hallucinate she was channeling Isis herself.

The woman's eyes went wide, and in her pupils appeared what looked like a star. What ever she'd taken had her under its spell now. It was time for her part in the sacrifice.

Slowly she lifted the jagged ritual dagger in her hands, holding it above her head.

No longer able to move; Kuryakin closed his eyes, not wanting to see it coming. It seemed his signal to Napoleon was too late, or perhaps they were too deep underground for it to have been received...

.

* ref "The See the Pyramids Along the Nile Affair"


	5. Chapter 5

Napoleon resisted the urge to check his wristwatch yet again, he really didn't have to as the growing pile of burnt out cigarettes at his feet were a testament to the fact he'd been standing watch where he was far longer than he'd hoped.

He reminded himself to be patient and give his partner time to do what had to be done. As long as the samba music was playing he figured Illya was indeed caught up in that, and would be for the duration.

Once they were off to the next parade the Russian planned on disappearing and would join him soon enough to retrieve the notes and sample Illya had hidden inside.

Though Solo had a rough idea where that was, he couldn't risk snooping about to find it as he'd surely be recognized.

It was when the music from within the hall ceased, and people came flooding out onto the street, walking in every possible direction that Napoleon suspected something was wrong. There was simply no sign of his wily partner.

"_Senhor_?" The voice of João spoke to him, approaching him from behind.

"Sorry I don't have enough Portuguese to speak to you," Solo shook his head; moving his hand away from his shoulder holster. "It's dangerous, you need to...go now. "_Não. Não é seguro_no. Not safe" _Napoleon waved them off.

"We will help," the taxi driver replied in perfect English."

"So you do speak English?" Napoleon was now suspicious

A group of armed men stood behind João , carrying everything from sawed off shotguns, to Luger pistols.

"Yes Senhor Solo," he reached into his pocket, producing an identification card indicating he was with the SNI.'

Napoleon was well aware that was Brazil's intelligence agency

"We have been watching this school for some time, as we were suspicious of this man Zuberi. Once we discovered Leticia Machado was with him we were ready to move in. Then you and Senhor Kuryakin arrived on the scene. I contacted my superiors who in turn contacted your Mr. Waverly. We have been authorized to assist you, and I think Mr. Kuryakin is in trouble so we will assist you, whether you want our help or not. This is, after all Senhor Solo, my country and not yours."

Napoleon adjusted his mindset, figuring this wasn't a bunch of locals going in there with him but trained operatives...though how well trained or not, he had no idea.

Still the mission was his priority, finding Illya took precedence in his mind, as the Russian knew exactly where to find what he'd hidden away.

Napoleon daren't trying to locate it just yet as there was the risk he and his new compatriots would be discovered and then all of them would be up the creek without the proverbial paddle. It was bad enough that Solo's instincts told him Illya was in trouble.

They crept along the walls, keeping to the shadows as most of the lights in the hall had been turned off, leaving a few shining down like rays of sunlight cutting the darkness.

He was startled as his communicator went off, chirping its call and echoing in the silence.

"_Shit!"_ Napoleon whispered as he scrambled to open and silence the device. Immediately he heard it, a quiet steady beep telling him that Illya's homing disc had been activated. Giving him the answer that his partner was indeed in trouble.

Taking a cue from their last mission in Brazil, Kuryakin decided to insert a subcutaneous tracker beneath the skin of one of his thighs. One had only to exert pressure on it to activate the signal, acting as a fail safe in the event he failed to complete his mission and escape.

Solo and his rag tag backup team made their way down the dimly lit stairwell, bypassing the lab and heading straight to Zuberi's office.

Walking the perimeter of the room with his communicator in front of himself, Napoleon found the signal stronger in front of the cat shrine.

"There must be a secret door here," João said as he began to move things around. He lifted the golden cat statue, and replaced it on its pedestal.

The base eased forward, and a panel opened behind it.

"Nice work João," Napoleon winked. He led the way into the tunnel, the walls lit by torches filling the air with an odd musty smell.

The group walked quietly and came to a halt when Napoleon raised his hand, signalling them to stop. It was then they heard it, a chanting echoing ahead of them...Egyptian from the sound of it. That didn't bode well at all to the American.

Illya didn't have a good track when it came to Egyptian rituals.

Solo continued leading the way; dispatching the few guards they encountered with sleep darts. The muffled 'pffft' kept to a minimum by the suppressor on his Special were negligible, but Napoleon put his finger to his lips, indicating to his companions to remain silent.

.

The guards who had been holding down the Russian abandoned him as the drug had taken effect. They disappeared into the shadows for a moment, returning with a carved wooden sarcophagus, setting it on the floor beside the altar and removing the simple lid. It had been decorated in the Roman style, but crudely painted with a portrait of Kuryakin's face. The rest of the coffin was hastily decorated with sacred Egyptian symbols.

Zuberi raised a clear glass beaker containing a large sample of his blob-like black mutated extremophiles. He poured them into the sarcophagus and next he raised a jar of oils and began anointing the body of the helpless Russian, all the while continuing to utter his chants.

That act forced Kuryakin to open his eyes, and finding himself able to move his head; he turned it and watched Mahaas Zuberi.

Apparently Illya's lifeless body was going to be put into the coffin once Leticia had performed her grisly task, and having been covered in oil...the extremophiles would devour his flesh. It was a major insult upon injury, not that Illya would care at that point; it all depended upon how quickly he expired after his beating heart was ripped from his chest.

Leticia remained beside him, her hands clutching the dagger still poised, raised above her head. Here eyes were still wide, held in that trance, when Illya watched her body strangely jerk, forcing her to take a step backward.

Illya turned his head, seeing Napoleon and a group of men behind Zuberi. The guards charged, but were brought down with shot gun blasts.

Leticia, hit with a sleep dart was barely fazed by it, whatever spell or drug she was under in her madness drove her toward the helpless Russian, driving the dagger downwards.

Kuryakin somehow managed to gain enough control over his body to roll away to his side; avoiding the blade as it drove down into the stone altar.

"Nooooo!" She shrieked."I will have my revenge!"

Zuberi turned, howling equally as loud as Leticia. "No you cannot do this! The gods must be appeased!" He charged Napoleon and the American found himself in trouble as his Special misfired.

There were more shotgun blasts, hitting the jar of oil that Zuberi held in his hands, sending the oil splattering all over the man.

With a Herculean effort, Illya kicked out with his leg, knocking the unsuspecting Egyptian against the sarcophagus. He lost his balance and fell into it.

They all watched in horror as Zuberi's body disintegrated like bits of earth.

Leticia dove forward, trying to save her master but toppled into the coffin with him.

The intertwined screams that ensued were terrifying as the extremophiles went about the business they had been created to perform.

João, taking pity on them, stepped forward and aiming his gun, he fired several shots; putting the poor souls out of their misery.

Solo rushed his partner's side, helping him to sit up, all the while taking a gander at the minimalist Egyptian costume the Russian wore.

"You know chum, we have to have a chat about you and these dresses don't you think?"

"Napoleon will you give it...rest." Illya could barely speak."This all your fault, you realize that?"

"My fault?"

"Yes," Illya hissed at his inability to function normally."You made me go on vacation here with you."

"Let's get you out of this place first partner mine, then we can play the blame game, hmmm?"

Solo lifted Illya to his feet, though Kuryakin could barely stand. Napoleon draped the man's arm across his shoulder, supporting him while holding onto his waist; together they made their way through the tunnels with the others.

There was a quick explanation as to João's presence, along with his men.

"I had a feeling about you _Senhor,_" Illya half-smiled.

"You had a feeling?" Napoleon paused." And when were you going to share that bit of intuition?"

"I had no proof, only my suspicions. You do recall that I do not make conclusions without sufficient evidence."

"Yep that's more like the IK I know,"Napoleon grinned.

"Beg pardon?"

"Nevermind."

The movement helped dissipate the drug in Illya's system and by the time they readed the stairs he was able to move on his own, though a bit slower than usual. Once up in the gymnasium he pointed to the spot where he'd hidden the notes and samples.

"This place needs to be destroyed, especially the lab. I expect the extremophiles in the coffin will die out once they have devoured their only food source, still we dare not chance anything, since they are a mutated form. Who knows what they could be capable of. Some sort of incendiary will be needed to complete the task," Illya concluded.

Napoleon opened the heel of his shoe, producing a fair amount of explosive putty. "Will this do?"

"Excellent. I think petrol will suffice to burn out the lower levels."

"Illya isn't gasoline made from oil?"

"It is an end product, but contains none of the original properties of it. It will do nicely if João and his men can obtain that, as well as contacting a fire brigade so we can have a controlled burn. The neighborhood must be protected."

"Can you do that for us?" Napoleon asked.

"_Bim Senhor!_" João saluted the agents and turning, he ran off into the night to do just that.

Illya sat down on the curb, seemingly lost in thought.

"You okay chum? I mean this was another close encounter for you with an Egyptian sarcophagus?"

"Hmm? Oh yes, just thinking about that," Illya lied. In truth his thoughts were drifting back to Anucis Sakr and the fact that he had a son with her.

He had to find her, and though his efforts in the past had failed, the truth now spurred him on.

.

Six months later, Illya Kuryakin wandered the streets of Tel Aviv, holding a piece of paper in his hands as he glanced at it and back at the many white washed homes he passed.

Finally he found the one he was looking for, and stepping up to the simple wooden door painted a deep brown color; he hesitated. He took a deep breath before gently rapping on it.

The door opened slowly, but there appeared to be no one there, that was until Illya looked down. There standing at his feet was a young dark-haired boy, with the bluest of eyes, the color of which the Russian instantly recognized.

"Hello," he greeted the toddler in Arabic, though the youngster remained silent.

"That is all right, I was shy when I was your age." Illya knelt down, as he spoke.

"Safir!" A familiar woman's voice called. "How many times have I told you not to…" She stopped in mid-sentence, her hand covering her mouth.

"Hello Anucis, may I come in." Illya stood, bowing his head to her.

"Illya...yes, ummmm, of course you can." She picked up the boy, holding him close to her. She seemed unfazed that he'd found her, and the Russian supposed she expected him to eventually do so.

"Is this…?"

"Yes he is your son." She said it without emotion. "His name is Safir Ilyas Sakr. Safir for the color of his eyes, and your name in Arabic."

"Thank you for that. It was kind of you."

"It is only right. A boy should at least have his father's name. Come Illya, join me in the garden for tea?"

He followed after her, noting she had become even more beautiful than the last time they'd seen each other.

As they sat beneath a shaded trellis, sipping their mint tea; watching Safir play at their feet. It was then Illya finally asked the question.

"Why did you leave without saying goodbye?"

"I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

She brushed back her long dark hair with a flick of her hand, inhaling deeply before she spoke.

"You told me that if there were a child then you would help support it ...but you could not be _with_ me. That was something your life would not allow."*

"Yes those were my words, but perhaps I might…"

"Illya," she placed her fingers against his lips. "Do not let the sight of the child change your mind. I know what kind of man you are, and the important job you do."

He felt her fingers touch him and he was filled with a tingling sensation. Taking her by the wrist, Illya kissed her palm. Their eyes met, and just as if no time had passed between them, he pulled her to him and kissed her; the taste of her lips calling up the memories of the day they'd made love to each other in his hotel room...not that abomination at the Isis temple back in Egypt.

Anucis pulled back, scooping up the child into her arms. "It is time for his nap."

She returned shortly, dressed in a diaphanous robe and led the Russian to her bedroom, and there they made love again, unable to resist the attraction they still felt for each other.

Illya remained with her and the child for several days, but finally he had to leave, and she sensed it. He knew what he felt for the woman was passion and lust, but not love. He couldn't have a life with her and the boy for that reason. Still it was a two way street as Napoleon liked to say. Anucis did not want him.

He tried offering her money to support her and his son but the woman refused.

"We have done fine on our own." She still had her pride.

"But I wish to do the right thing. Will you not let me at least send you money each month? If not for support, then put it aside for the boy's education."

"Perhaps you will meet a good man and marry someday. A boy needs a father you know."

"I will tell Safir tales of his brave Russian father," she smiled.

"Thank you, but that is not the same."

"I know. I promise your son will be brought up to be a fine young man, but I ask that this be the last time you see him or me again."

Illya felt a tightening in his chest at such a final rejection, but he would honor her wishes. He said goodbye to them both, and disappeared down the dusty street into the crowds, never to be seen by them again.

"Farewell my beloved Ilyas, God go with you." Anucis Sakr whispered..

.

Napoleon Solo looked up from his desk as his partner entered their office.

"Welcome home chum. How was your vacation?"

"Delightful. The ski slopes in Switzerland were full of snowbunnies….you would have been in your glory." Kuryakin sat down at his desk, noting the stack of folders that had piled up in his absence.

"Really, do tell," Napoleon thought that remark very out of character for his partner, and suspected the man was lying about something. Though others couldn't sense such things with the Russian; Solo had gotten to know him better than anyone and had developed an instinct for these things with Illya.

"So up to your neck in past due reports I see," Illya glanced at the American's desk.

"Yeah, what can I say. I missed you buddy."

"Why thank you my friend. It is good to be needed if only in a small way. " He suddenly found that song from so long ago drifting though his head. *

"_See the pyramids along the Nile, watch the sunrise from a tropic isle. Just remember darling all the while...you belong to me. See the market place in old Algiers. Send me photographs and souveniers. Just remember when a dream appears, you belong to me. I'd be so alone without you, maybe you'd be lonesome too and blue..."_

Illya had someone who finally belonged to him, yet didn't. Still the knowledge there was another of the Kuryakin bloodline in this world did his heart good. He was no longer the last and that would have to sustain him.

Napoleon stared as his partner for a moment, thinking Illya's remark rather cryptic, but for once he decided it was best not to pursue it...for now. He'd get his answer another day, no doubt.

.

* ref "The See the Pyramids along the Nile Affair.


End file.
